Gaily, If You Can't Demonstrate

His Eyes Met Mine At The Soft Touch, And A Chime Seemed To Shake The Ley Line, Realigning The Universe. He Was Mine.

Al's Voice Was Faint But Resolute. "stand Up. Try To Look Sexy." "in A Bedsheet?" I Complained, Running My Hands Down It. "how Can I Look Sexy In A Bedsheet?" He Cleared His Throat, And I Grimaced. "never Mind.

I Have A Name,” I Grumped, My Stomach Pinching Me Harder. “yes, But It Has No Pizzazz. Ra-a-a-a-chel. Rach-e-e-e-eel,” He Said, Trying It Out In Different Ways. “no One Will Tremble In Terror At That. Oh My God!” He Said In A High Falsetto. “it’s Rachel! Run! Hide!

You Try Getting Through The Hollows Traffic With A Stoned Redhead Hanging Out The Window Shouting, 'i'm King Of The World!' ~lee

Good God,” I Whispered, Sitting On The Van’s Cot And Looking At My Legs, Horrified. They Were Hairy—not Wolf Hairy, But An I-couldn’t-find-my-razor-the-last-six-months Hairy. Utterly Grossed Out, I Took A Peek At My Armpit, Jerking Away. Oh, That’s Just…nasty.